The Mystery Writer: Instigator

By K.e. Klammer

In this book, Tesla Klamath, Ceel, and their companion, Rado, fall engaged into a new adventure.

As a terminally ill multibillionaire with just weeks to live, he is desperate for a cure, and he seeks ancient solutions. Utilizing the highest technology and personnel, he and a bevy of talented individuals begin a journey, taking them into realms unknown.

When their journey takes them into unexplored territories of the world, they discover that this is more dangerous than what they expected. However, they continue on to their thus-far-elusive goal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543472868

K.e. Klammer

K. e. Klammer was born August 18, 1948, in the small Illinois town of Waukeganthe hometown of both Jack Benny and Ray Bradberry, which may have contributed to his style. In New York City, he attended art and writing classes at Parsons, the New School of Design, the Students Art League, and electronic engineering at TCI. He also attended art classes in upstate New York at Bard and the Woodstock School of Design. K. e. Klammer likes the Beatles, especially their song Paperback Writer.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Living at the Plaza was nice, to say the least. However, after being engaged and living together for a year and six months, I talked Ceel into letting me purchase an entire brownstone with a used and rare bookstore on the first floor. Naturally, I purchased the store’s entire book inventory at a bargain rate because the owner wanted to retire.

The brownstone had five floors, a basement, and a rooftop garden and patio where I had a Jacuzzi installed. It was fun to write in the Jacuzzi on warm summer days, sipping green tea laced with vermouth.

Ceel and I worked together sorting and learning the store’s inventory. We hired a couple of students to help run the store. We also hired one of the Plaza’s maids to keep our place in order while we worked on writing more (hopefully) best-selling novels.

Ceel and I worked well together. There was a harmony between us, a compatibility that was hard to explain . . . I truly loved her. Ceel was cataloging our book inventory, while I oversaw the store’s overhauling. There were moldings on the double bay windows at the store’s entrance that needed replacing. Some of the shelves had to be replaced, and the whole place needed a good coat of paint in an assortment of colors that Ceel picked and I okayed. The colors I okayed were mostly shades of white, which Ceel, the art collector, loved because this way the walls did not compete with her art collection.

Before painting the upper levels, we decided to have some walls removed and an Otis elevator installed. Basically, what had begun as a touch-up had turned into a full remodeling. Ceel and I had visited many antique shops both in Manhattan and Upstate New York. For these jaunts to furnish our abode, we enlisted our good friend Rado to drive these large trucks loaded with our loot.

With all these activities, I discovered that it was not easy being rich—lots of bills to pay, checking to make sure the bills matched the items we purchased. Now one might say, Why not hire an accountant? Call it paranoia or just needing to be in control, you know? Maybe someday we would change.

After a long day’s work, I settled down, sat on the couch in the third floor, and decided to watch the daily news on our seventy-two-inch HD TV. It was wonderful; I had all the channels plus surround sound. Suddenly my sweet Ceel came into the room, bringing freshly popped popcorn slathered in butter, and sat down beside me. While I reached over to grab a fistful of buttered popcorn, Ceel reached for the remote, and after a few clicks, we were watching a horror movie called The Bubble Girl Massacres.

Ceel nudged me gently. Guess who I saw today!

I looked somewhat surprised into Ceel’s delightfully blue eyes, and before I could answer, she said, I ran into Pat Sajak in the supermarket!

Are you sure it was the original Pat Sajak? I mean, there are so many impersonators in Manhattan.

Of course it was the real Pat Sajak. I spoke to him, and he autographed my wallet. See?

With that, Ceel rose to get her wallet just as Bubble Girl was sawing off a victim’s head to add to her growing collection. Minutes later, arriving with a clatter of flip-flops on the parquet floor, Ceel stood before me (blocking the TV screen) with her prize, and sure enough, there on the wide side of her white leather billfold in large handwriting were the words Dear Ceel, best wishes always!—Pat Sajak.

I was impressed. It seemed like Ceel’s charisma was universal. I paused for a minute. Ceel, dear, why didn’t you invite him for dinner?

Ceel looked a little disappointed. I did. However, he had to work on the show at Radio City.

Shades of Frankenstein, a mob, surrounded Bubble Girl in a windmill and set it on fire.

I was just getting back into the movie, with Ceel again sitting beside me with a contented smile on her face, when the doorbell rang. It was a very elaborate doorbell with video in color, of course. I got up to answer while Ceel gave a cute sneer at the event. When I arrived at the console, I alerted Ceel. It’s Rado. Better make more popcorn, he’s a big man! Ceel laughed at that thought and remained seated on the lounge.

With that said, I opened the front door and let Rado in, and then I waited for him by the elevator door on the main floor. Sorry, Rado, but the elevator is out of order. We have to take the stairs.

It was only two floors; however, these old brownstones had very tall ceilings. Rado insisted on carrying the large ficus tree by himself. By the second floor, he had changed his mind, and I managed to carry some of the weight up the remaining flight.

The big man entered the room carrying an eight-foot-tall ficus tree with a little help from me. A distant hi came from Ceel on the couch as Rado parked the tree by the elevator door. It doesn’t need much care, Tesla. Rado now felt comfortable calling me by my first name. Just water it every week or so, and it will provide fresh air for you for years to come. Err . . . do I smell fresh popcorn?

I looked for Ceel and saw her just leaving the full-size popcorn machine after starting a new batch. "Come on in, Rado! After this movie ends, Bubble Girl Two starts, followed by three, four, and five. They are showing the whole series. It’s just wonderful!" Ceel invited.

Rado walked over to the popcorn machine and picked up a large popcorn box, which looked rather small in his large hands. Here, Rado, try this one. I showed Rado a custom-made extra-large popcorn box. I had it made custom just for your special appetite.

As Rado thanked me, Ceel giggled while Rado shoveled large scoops of popcorn into his new prize. Err . . . Tesla, where’s the butter? I noticed that Rado was frowning at the butter substitute dispenser. I hadn’t noticed that Ceel left for the kitchen until she shouted, I have that taken care of, Rado, dear! And she entered the room with a metal carafe loaded to the brim with fresh melted butter. We could see Rado’s nostrils twitching as they inhaled the tangy aroma of its contents.

This is good, Rado muttered happily as he munched a mouthful of freshly buttered popcorn. You know what? It could use a little salt. Rado looked wantonly at Ceel, who quickly fulfilled his desire with a fond smile. There you go, mien liege.

Rado quickly shook an ample amount of salt onto his popcorn. Ceel, rather amazed by this, said, Do you wish for a long life, Rado?

Some people have different metabolisms than norm, and as a result, they need more salt! Rado smiled. As do I, he stated.

I tended to agree with that statement and grabbed a large handful of salty, heavily buttered popcorn for myself, one of many to come. As Ceel sat down beside me, we three continued the viewing of Bubble Girl carnage.

Let me get this straight. The bubble girl has a twin sister, I inquired, being a Bubble Girl novice.

Ceel jumped in, Right, Tesla, dear. The real Bubble Girl is dead. She dies when a group of teens accost her.

You see, a fight breaks out, and the Bubble Girl’s bubble suit tears— Rado added.

The tear allows germs to enter the Bubble Girl’s bubble suit and . . . interrupted Ceel.

She goes home and dies! Rado jumped in.

Her twin sister finds her dead body on the bed and takes her place, vowing revenge! Ceel finished.

But didn’t we see her die in the first movie? I asked as we see her in Bubble Girl Two.

Oh, oh, oh, when you saw the Bubble Girl burning up in the windmill in the first movie, it was not her. It’s her dead sister, the real Bubble Girl! Ceel educated.

Yes, Tesla. You see, her sister, the healthy one, set that ending up. She knew she was about to be caught, so she designed an escape route via the old windmill. She placed the body of her dead sister in her torn bubble suit and loaded the building with gasoline, knowing the townspeople would set the old mill on fire, Rado completed. The rest is movie history!

I sat on the sofa, blinking absently while wondering why I was enjoying such a movie, and grabbed a handful of vastly buttered popcorn from Rado’s container. Get your own, Tesla! Rado grinned a substantial grin. I then felt a soft punch to my ribs from Ceel’s side of the sofa. Behave, Tes! I always grimaced when Ceel called me that. I looked into her lovely eyes and said, Yes, dear.

As we continued watching Bubble Girl Two and munching on profusely buttered popcorn, we were interrupted by a loud thud. The first one simply raised our eyebrows, and with a shrug, we resumed our viewing pleasure. It was the third and fourth thuds that got us moving with a statement from Ceel. Err . . . anyone going to check that?

The Bubble Girl had just decapitated the head master of the school where the original Bubble Girl got her fatal injury. Rado and I took another fistful of popcorn when two more loud thuds occurred. Ceel was giving us an icy stare, then she got up. Well, if you two he-men aren’t man enough to check, I will!

Wait, Ceel. Honey, we’re coming. Really, Ceel, see, we’re getting up! I pleaded, although Ceel had already taken a firm lead to the roof where the sounds seemed to originate. The elevator was not active yet, so we had to hoof it to the roof with youthful Ceel rushing at least one flight ahead of us. Ceel! Ceeelll, wait up!

We arrived at the roof just as the sun was going down over the Hudson. This made us all forget for a moment about the thuds and concentrate on the remarkable sunset. Ceel ran over to me and clasped my hand. Oh, Tesla, it is so beautiful! As we gazed at the wondrous event, Rado walked over and joined, placing his large arms around both of our shoulders, which was both enduring and annoying. Then several more thuds jolted us into awareness of why we came here in the first place. It is coming from the basement, Tesla! Rado surmised with intent as he led the way to the stairwell. Of course, we were very interested in the origin of these thuds, so we humored Rado and followed him down the staircase.

This staircase took us down five flights of stairs, plus one more flight to the basement, where the sounds seemed to be coming from. Why did we take the stairs down instead of the elevator? Simply, it was faster and we probably needed exercise and the elevator was not in service yet. Now we were in the cluttered basement, breathing from a cloud of dust and covering our ears from the pounding sound of thuds, which seemed to be coming from the north wall.

As we had pinpointed the wall as the source of thuds, we had to move a large set of shelves to see it, and then we were surprised to find an arm sticking out of a hole in the wall. While the arm seemed to be talking, we heard a male voice coming from behind the wall. Is someone there? If so, then help me . . . please.

Ceel managed to find the basement light switch, which made everything easier. Rado and I searched for tools like sledgehammers and crowbars, which, believe it or not, we found. Then we all gathered before the hole in the wall where the arm had been replaced by a nose and an eye. The eye blinked three times, and the nose sneezed. I took the lead, requesting the nose and eye to stand back, as we were about to break down the wall that held him.

Rado swung the sledgehammer while I chiseled and pried with the crowbar. The over-two-hundred-year-old wall was substantially harder to remove than I had expected. They built them to last in those days. After about twenty minutes of hard labor, both Rado and I were oozing perspiration and covered with grey dust. What made matters worse was the voice from the other side of the wall yelling and screaming various epilates referring to our efforts to get him out.

Ceel had gone upstairs to make us tea while we had finished widening the hole to about the size of a card table. Then we helped guide the gentleman out of the wall. He was of medium height with sandy hair, covered in grey dust from the mortar, and wore a tuxedo. You would think the first words coming from a formally captive person would be Thank you very much! or How could I ever repay you? However, the reality was Can I use your restroom?

Luckily, there was a full restroom in the basement. I guided the strange man down the hall to his goal. As he brushed past Rado, he began to moan lowly. He practically dove into the room, and we heard soft coos of relief coming from the other side of the door. Our mission accomplished, Rado and I walked back to inspect the other side of the hole in the wall.

As Ceel came down with a large pot of tea and four cups, Rado and I discussed whether or not to call the police. The general consensus became to wait until we knew more from our guest. The other side of the wall seemed to be a space between our buildings, which was closed at both ends, forming a tunnel-like structure that was about four feet wide. Ceel had followed us into the space with flashlights that proved to be useful in the tunnel. Tea? Ceel inquired as she handed us our flashlights. This was one of the reasons I love Ceel; she was always prepared, like a Boy Scout.

Rado had found an old can with a funnel top and a screw on top. The can was labeled Moxie. The tunnel was littered with old junk left from a time before the ends were sealed. We took our tea; Rado had his with cream, while I had mine straight with sugar. Ceel had her tea plain without sugar. We noticed the fresh brick-and-mortar section just opposite of the hole we made.

There is more to this than meets the eye, Ceel clichéd sarcastically with a charming smile. I then felt we were being drawn into some sort of mystery, and I wondered how I could fit this into my latest novel.

I examined the mortar, noticing that it filled what must have been an old doorway that led to our neighboring building. Rado scratched his head gently. Now why would anyone go to all this trouble to kill someone? It just doesn’t make sense. Does it, Tesla?

That’s right, Rado. There is always the Hudson River for body disposal, Ceel added.

Maybe they didn’t intend to kill him. Maybe they just wanted to scare him into some sort of submission! I added with enthusiasm. I could see in their eyes that I struck a note. I looked at the recently created wall and discovered little airholes. These, I pointed, were made on purpose.

That would mean . . . Ceel chirped.

That they are coming back for him! Rado finished the sentence.

I suggested we go and get this tuxedoed stranger and have him enlighten us. That said, we climbed out of the hole and dashed down the hall to the restroom, which we found empty. I was about to say Where did he go? when Ceel pointed out the dusty footprints leading to the staircase. Never a dull moment when I’m with you guys, Rado alerted.

We three then followed the tracks up the staircase to the bookstore elevator, where they ended. The elevator is working? I inquired. Oh . . . I forgot to tell you they finished it yesterday while you were out, Ceel clarified. I immediately pressed the up button, and the elevator doors opened. We stepped in and discovered a dusty print on the third-floor button. Lucky! Rado injected into the silence.

Cautiously, I pressed the button, and the elevator cranked us up to the third floor. The door opened into the familiar territory of our dining room and kitchen, where more dusty footprints led. We followed the prints into the kitchen, and there, before the icebox, was our mysterious stranger, drinking milk from the bottle.

He looked up, smiled, and said without blinking, Normally, I would not drink from the bottle. However, I was very needy, and I didn’t know where your glasses were located. I am sure that all three of us blinked a few times while he spoke.

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sir Kirby Ridgely. I believe you purchased this building from me as the bookstore owner just leased it. He extended his hand to shake. You can just call me Kirby, he announced as he shook each of our hands.

Can I get you anything to eat? Ceel blurted quietly.

Kirby affirmed, adding he would enjoy something light, like scrambled eggs and toast. Ceel rushed to make his order while I suggested we all sit down at the kitchen table, where we finally introduced ourselves to our surprise guest.

Now, Sir Kirby, just what is this all about? I asked, noticing that Rado and Ceel had their eyes focused on Kirby.

As Sir Kirby wiped the milk residue from his upper lip with a napkin, I wondered just how he got the sir extension of his name. He didn’t seem British at all. He had no noticeable accent, although he carried himself like a graduate from Oxford.

Well, it seemed like my assailants were under the impression that I had some ancient knowledge of some dead language that would help them decipher some writing on an ancient stone map. When I convinced them I knew nothing of the said languages, they got mad, knocked me out, and sealed me in that wall. Now I just want to change my tux and get to my seminar.

Ceel served Kirby his scrambled eggs and toast while Rado and I pardoned ourselves for a little check around the house. What did you think of that story Sir Kirby told, Tesla?

I was noticing that Rado’s thinking must be similar to my own. There is something fishy about his story, Rado . . . He is not telling us everything.

And you know, he didn’t even seem shaken after being knocked out and sealed away like that! Rado surmised.

We did a thorough walk through the building and found nothing out of order. While doing this, Rado grabbed another box of popcorn, and we watched a few minutes of the Bubble Girl movie.

We walked back to the kitchen area, where Ceel informed us that the police were on their way here.